


In Other Words

by ukrainianironbelly



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter Next Generation, M/M, Slow Burn, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 02:56:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8560906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukrainianironbelly/pseuds/ukrainianironbelly
Summary: "I love you" can be said in many other ways.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It's seven AM, and I am trash.  
> Inspired by Mary Lambert’s “Lay Your Head Down”, Peter Gabriel’s “The Book of Love”, the act of eating a cinnamon roll while also writing about a cinnamon roll, & The Princess Bride

Scorpius wakes up shivering.

This is usually the case during Christmas holidays at Malfoy Manor, as Scorpius has learned through the sixteen consecutive Christmases he has spent there. The old Wiltshire mansion gets rather drafty and creaky in winter. The wind wailing through the hallways often makes the oddest sounds - rather like ghosts and banshees. In fact, when he was little, Scorpius had been convinced the house actually harbored such apparitions in hiding, and had been determined to find one. His mum had heartily encouraged these flights of fancy, telling him all sorts of ghost stories and sending him on utterly delightful wild-goose-chases down the halls. Scorpius laughs, fondly thinking of his beautiful, lovely mum. Christmas used to be her favourite season. Scorpius makes it a point to keep up her tradition of being house-proud - his arms and legs positively ache from putting up all the lights and tinsel around the massive house.

As he is reminiscing, a gust of wind sweeps through a crack in the window, wailing loudly, and Scorpius draws his three down blankets tighter around himself. He rolls over and stares morosely at the extinguished fire. He wishes he could just light it with magic, without having to move from the bed. He thinks of Albus, who wouldn’t have this problem. He came of age in November, but Scorpius’ birthday’s not till February.

Scorpius can’t stay morose for long, though, not when he’s thinking about happy things like Albus, and how easily Albus would light the fire, and how good Albus is at Charms, and Albus’ birthday, and how Albus is a Scorpio, which means he’s born under  _ his _ constellation, and how his own birthday is in February, and he’ll have cake, and presents, and - Christmas!

It’s Christmas morning!

Scorpius leaps out of bed, ignoring the cold floor, and hurtles down the marble staircase, skidding into the dining room dramatically.

“DAD!,” he yells at his father who is reading the Prophet at the head of their long dining table. 

Draco looks up, a smile spreading on his face. “Yes, Scorpius?”

“Merry Christmas!” Scorpius beams, filled with joy and warmth and goodness, because it’s  _ Christmas _ .

“Merry Christmas, Scorpius,” Draco replies, sounding faintly fond.

The table is laden with delicious special Christmas-breakfast-y things - there’s kidney, and bacon, and his favourite poached eggs, and  _ toast _ , delicious toast, and some very fancy, very smelly French cheeses his dad likes...Scorpius loads up his plate, and bounds over to sit next to his dad, even though he’s supposed to sit at the opposite end of the table.

“What are we doing today?,” he asks excitedly.

“The same thing we do every Christmas,” says Draco, raising his eyes to the heavens. “Unwrapping our presents, ordering takeout Chinese, watching one of your Muggle movies, and then joining the carolers after lunch.”

“Yes,” Scorpius affirms happily, tucking in.

Muggle movies is a tradition Scorpius started when he was very young. Malfoy Manor is a few miles from Cricklade, a Muggle town, and when he was little, he went to the Muggle primary there. His Muggle friend, Royce, had something called a  _ Dee-Vee-Dee player _ at his house, that played moving images with stories. Scorpius had been captivated by the tales - the ferocious beast saved by the love of the bookish village girl, the old man whose house flew away with the little Asian boy and his dog attached, and the fierce Chinese girl who went to war in place of her father. 

Ever since, he’s been owl-ordering movies from Diagon Alley’s Muggle novelty shop. They’ve really built up quite a massive collection - it’s enough to rival his grandfather’s Dark Artifacts collection, Scorpius muses, as he finishes his eggs.

“So. Presents?,” his dad reminds him, folding up his napkin and depositing it on his plate.

Scorpius doesn’t reply. Instead, he’s off like a shot into their grand drawing room, which holds the largest Christmas tree he’s seen outside of Hogwarts, and their presents. His dad, laughing, follows.

As soon as his dad reaches the drawing room, Scorpius grabs his largest present - from his dad - and rips it open. “Wait, I’ve got to take pictures!,” Draco calls, and raises the camera to his eyes and starts clicking as Scorpius enthusiastically tosses wrapping paper all over the room. 

His dad has gotten him a hard-bound, beautifully illustrated copy of _Thistlecombe’s Ancient Wizarding Mythologies_ , his favourite book next to _Hogwarts: A History_. Scorpius flips it open, his eyes widening when he sees that the runic translation accompanies the English text. He turns, hugging it to his chest with shining eyes. “Dad! This is _amazing -_ ” Unable to express it in words, he runs to his dad, including him in the hug. “I love you,” he mumbles, and his dad tightens his hold.

“See what I got you!,” Scorpius exclaims. 

“Okay,” says his dad agreeably, bending to pick up the soft package. He unwraps it - much more carefully than Scorpius - to find a green sweater patterned with snitches. 

“Because you were Seeker!,” Scorpius bursts out happily. 

“Indeed. Why, Scorpius,” Draco laughs. “I love it!” He takes off his plain black sweater and pulls on the new one. Scorpius takes the camera from his dad, despite his protestations, and takes several pictures of him in his sweater. 

“Don’t you want to open your other presents?,” his dad asks, as he’s getting lost in Thistlecombe again. He’s unwrapping presents from all his old school friends - Pansy, Theodore, Gregory.

“Oh!,” Scorpius gasps. He can’t believe he almost forgot - he dives and grabs the present he is next-most-excited about after his dad’s - or, maybe, if he’s being honest with himself, just-as-excited about - Albus’s.

The present is wrapped messily, with cramped writing spelling his name. “Scorpius - enjoy. Have a happy Christmas.” Al’s note is terse, in his usual style, but Scorpius smiles fondly nonetheless, knowing that Al probably pored over it, not sure what to say, awkward as ever. He unwraps this present carefully, keeping Al’s note on the wrapping paper intact. 

“So you’ll rip up my wrapping paper, but you’ll save Al’s?,” his dad jokes, coming over to see what he got. Scorpius laughs shrilly, alarmed.  _ Does his dad know...?  _

His dad is not paying attention to his reaction, though, peering at the package interestedly instead. “So - what’d you get?,” he asks.

Scorpius looks down, and his brow furrows. From the shape of the package, he’d assumed it would be a book, like Al has gotten him every year - like everyone gets him, really - but...it’s not. It’s a sleek-looking black box, and after some struggle, Scorpius pulls off the cover. A bottle of cologne rests on a white pillow inside.

Cologne. He’s never gotten cologne from anybody before. For some reason, he blushes. Cologne seems like such a...strange gift. Unbidden, he remembers how his dad used to give his mum perfume on her birthdays, before shaking his head. As if this is the same thing. He plasters on a grin, and says, “Ooh, cologne, how exciting!,” before spraying it in the air and taking a whiff. Oh, it smells quite nice - woody, forest-y, and very manly. “What do you think, Dad?,” he asks, determined to normalize the atmosphere, for his dad is staring at the package rather curiously. “What? Oh -” his dad sniffs the air “- yes, very nice.”

“Didn’t know you boys even knew what cologne was,” he adds, smiling. “Guess you’re growing up, aren’t you?”

“Daaaad!” Scorpius pokes his father in the side, right where he’s ticklish, and Dad twists away, gasping with laughter. 

He gazes down at the bottle, which is making him very happy, for some reason, and decides to write Albus his thanks as soon as possible. He’s a bit anxious - he didn’t get Al anything nearly as special. In fact, afraid that he’s been too obvious about his more-than-friendly feelings for Albus this year, he’s gone quite low-key, and sent Albus a sweater, same as his dad, but with a pattern of imps - for Pepper Imps - on it instead, just a little oversized, like Al likes his sweaters. He knows Albus will like it - he likes Pepper Imps, and he likes being warm - but is it  _ too _ casual? He considers. Maybe Al also gave  _ his _ dad cologne...?

“Okay, now onto the rest,” Draco says, still watching him, and hands him a package. “Here - Pansy sent you some chocolate.” 

“Dad! You can’t open  _ my _ presents!,” Scorpius exclaims, but he’s delighted by Pansy’s present of a Christmas pack of Chocoballs. Theodore has also sent him a package of Fizzing Whizbees - he loves those - and Gregory, strange as usual, has sent him a gift certificate to a shop called Borgin & Burke’s, which Draco hastily grabs back from him and  _ Incendios _ .

“All right, ready for the picture?,” his dad asks. Scorpius nods, beaming, delighted with his haul. He joins his dad on the sofa in front of the mantel, and picks up his favourite picture of his mum in her wedding robes from the coffee table. He lingers, fondly looking at his second-favourite - his mum and dad in the little Spanish church where they had eloped. It was a formally posed picture, but emanated joy. He watches them smile quietly at each other with undisguised, hopeful adoration. 

Then, as is their tradition, Draco and Scorpius sit on the sofa, the picture of Astoria clasped in both their hands, and smile widely, as the camera on the mantle flashes one, two, three, and then clicks and whirrs with the definitive sound of a picture being taken.

Later, Scorpius places the order, being better at telephones than his dad, at the Golden Pavilion, the little Chinese place in the nearby village whose delivery boy never seems perturbed at the bloody great mansion he delivers food to all the time, and motions to his dad to get some Muggle money ready for the order. After the food comes, they watch a Christmas movie called  _ The Nightmare Before Christmas _ , alternately laughing uproariously at and fascinated by Muggles’ ideas of magic. In the evening, Scorpius and Draco Apparate to Cricklade to join the Muggle carolers, as Astoria always loved to, and go from house to house singing “Silent Night” and “Jingle Bells” and “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing”, their matching tenors rising in the night.

-x-

“So - Albus,” Draco begins. The boy himself is standing at the other end of the platform, being hugged thoroughly by his mum and assorted members of his extended family. He hasn’t spotted Scorpius yet, and Scorpius is bouncing on the balls of his feet, irrepressibly excited to see his  _ best friend _ again, and yet, feeling unaccountably shy as well.

“Er - yes, Dad? Did you want to talk to Albus?,” Scorpius asks, when his dad’s words pierce the haze of his turbulent feelings.

“Well, no. Actually, I wanted to talk to  _ you _ \- about Albus.” Draco is quiet, despite his words being drowned out by the chatter and the frequent whistles of the engine.

“Erm - with me?! About Albus?!,” Scorpius echoes, alarmed. “Why?” For a second, he’s afraid of being made to stop hanging out with Albus, like that time in fourth year -

“Well, I wanted to ask you...” Draco stops, and clears his throat, and gazes around at the platform as if for inspiration.

“What?,” Scorpius asks, puzzled.

“Well - what is the relationship between the two of you?,” Draco finishes awkwardly, looking extremely uncomfortable, but determined.

“The - the - relationship?,” Scorpius repeats. He is well and truly bewildered now. “Well...we’re best friends. Like we were last year. And the year before that. And before that, also.”

“Oh,” Draco says. “Best friends? And that’s all?”

Suddenly, it strikes Scorpius exactly  _ what _ his dad is trying to ask, and he blushes a deep, deep magenta, feeling an equal measure of horror, embarrassment, and uncertainty. He doesn’t quite know what to say.

“Right, I see. So - this is why I asked,” Draco says, seemingly having found his answer. “If you two - are - you know - well, you should know I have nothing against it, indeed, I had an uncle who - well, what I mean to say is, if you’re dating, boyfriends, as it were, then that’s perfectly fine, I just want you to stay safe -”

“Dad!,” Scorpius bursts out, horrified, and Draco pauses, looking just as horrified. “Albus is not my boyfriend,” he hisses, looking over to double-check that Albus is still safely ensconced by his relatives. “It’s - it’s not like that - he’s not - he doesn’t -”

“So you do?,” Draco asks quietly. “Feel that way?,” he completes the sentence Scorpius couldn’t quite formulate. Scorpius gazes at his dad, his cheeks feeling hot, and nods slowly when he finds himself incapable of saying anything.  _ Merlin _ . It feels good to tell someone. Scorpius has never been good at keeping secrets.

“And - he doesn’t?,” Draco asks even more gently. Scorpius averts his gaze. “I don’t know. I mean, I really doubt he’s going to return the feelings of his male best friend.” He laughs slightly hysterically. “I don’t think he’s - you know - gay,” he ends. 

He feels a painful ache welling in his chest as he finally puts in words what he has feared for the past year. 

Draco’s face is knowing and weary. “Er - well - I hoped it wasn’t this,” he says, putting his hand on Scorpius’ shoulder, as Scorpius stares at his dad’s shiny Italian shoes. “I hoped - that you two were together, quite honestly - what with that cologne and everything -” Scorpius blushes furiously. He doesn’t quite know what to say. He doesn’t want his dad to worry about him - he already does, so much, with Mum’s death. He will deal with this, like he deals with everything. Sadness is only temporary, after all.

“It’s okay, dad,” he says firmly. He injects some cheer into his voice, as he says, “We all have crushes that don’t work out - I’ll get over it! Plenty of fish in the sea, as they say!”

“Scorpius,” his father says. “You needn’t - pretend - for my sake. Love - it’s painful.”

Scorpius feels something shift inside him with his father’s use of that heavy word, shift in a way that feels true. He remembers his thoughts on Christmas morning, his mum’s face in the picture at the Spanish church. The way she gazed at his dad, her unfettered, wide smile, full of hope for the future, the smile he has inherited - he is so afraid that he looks like that when he looks at Albus, that his heart is writ plain on his face.

“It’s even more painful when it isn’t returned - or - when it’s taken away,” Draco continues, sounding gruff, and Scorpius knows that he, too, is thinking of Mum. “But - if there’s anything my life has taught me, Scorpius - it’s what makes us human. The pain. And - well - that’s...life,” he finishes, sounding slightly hopeless and lost. “We have to live with the pain, because if we didn’t feel the pain, it would be much worse.” It’s the most his father has ever opened up to him, and isn’t it strange, that it happens with ten minutes left to catch the Hogwarts Express?

Scorpius draws a breath, his chest tight, and raises his chin, looking his father straight in the eyes. Their heights are almost equal now.

“Don’t worry, Dad,” he assures him. “I know. And love - well, it can be wonderful, too.” He knows this to be true - he has felt so much love in his lifetime - his mum, his dad, his grandmother when he was little, even Pansy, who came over and made him terrible soup after Mum died. And then there’s Albus - Albus, Albus, Albus, Albus - who has loved him since day one, even if it is not in the way he wants. It really is rather excessive, so much love for just one boy. 

Draco looks at him, as though he can’t quite believe he is there, grey eyes suspiciously bright. “Yes,” he says, after a while. “Here,” he says, as the train whistles. “You’d better get on, now. Don’t want to be stuck with the worst compartment.” 

Scorpius knows that this is another way of saying  _ I love you _ .

-x-

On their first Hogsmeade weekend after Christmas holidays, in mid-January, Albus wears the Pepper Imp sweater, which makes Scorpius unaccountably happy. “Do you like it?!,” he keeps asking Albus brightly as they make their way down to the village, and laughing, Albus replies, “Yes, mate,” and “I do, it’s a nice sweater” and “Will you shut up about the sweater?”

(He’s been wearing the cologne almost daily, and, although it’s a bit silly to do so, he hopes Albus notices and it makes him as happy).

They go to Honeydukes first, to stock up on sweets, and Albus dares to try a Blood Lolly. “Not bad,” he reports, after a few experimental licks, “tastes like metal, a bit. And chicken.” Scorpius can’t stop laughing, but stops when Albus thrusts the lollipop at him threateningly.

They go to Gladrags to pick up new cloak fastenings for Albus, and Scorpius gazes awestruck at a pair of dragon-hide pants on a mannequin before Al, snorting with laughter, pulls him away. He ribs him about the pants all the way to Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, where they run into Al’s Uncle George, who thrusts three packs of Wet-Start Fireworks and a Portable Swamp into their arms with a wink and a whispered instruction to “raise hell”, which neither Al nor Scorpius have any interest in doing. Nevertheless, their escapades of fourth year have earned them the eternal respect of Uncle George and Uncle Ron, who have bizarrely started considering them the natural successors of the infamous Weasley Twins. It’s worth it, though, for Scorpius, who is in awe of all members of Al’s family, all of whom he considers living history. He shoves Albus and shakes his head when the other boy mumbles an apology for his “embarrassing family.”

It’s impossible to escape Al’s family at Hogwarts, though, and at the Three Broomsticks, they run into Rose and her boyfriend, Yann, who seem to be attached at the mouth but separate as Albus and Scorpius walk by. 

“Join us!,” cries Yann amiably, flushed but friendly. 

Albus and Scorpius look at each other, but shrugging, accept. Yann and Rose - everyone, really - have grown much warmer since fourth year, and it’s really quite nice.

“Sorry for interrupting your date,” says Scorpius happily as they sit down, and Rose rolls her eyes.

“She says this isn’t a date, so there’s nothing to interrupt,” reports Yann, smiling stupidly at her nonetheless, clearly besotted.

“...If it’s not a date, what is it?,” asks Albus, raising his eyebrows and looking very confused.

“Just two people out to Hogsmeade together!,” Rose cries suddenly. “Just like you and Scorpius!” 

Scorpius feels very warm suddenly.  _ Well, not quite. _ Rose and Yann are still looking well-snogged and are holding hands. Scorpius pushes away a sudden vision of him and Al in their place.

“Why,” Rose continues, “is it that when two people who are dating each other are out together, it  _ has _ to be a date?”

“Not necessarily,” Al points out. “You could also be going out together to pick up toilet paper, that’s not very romantic. Or to a funeral.”

Rose stares at him and Yann smiles bemusedly. Scorpius giggles.

“I mean, a date is different,” Al continues. “A date means you are out together for the purpose of spending time together.”

“No,” Rose counters, “then that would mean, going with my previous analogy, that you and Scorpius are on a date.” 

Scorpius goes red, alarmed, and sees that Rose’s words have truly stumped Al, whose mouth is open.

“A date has  _ expectations _ ,” she barrels on, ignoring their reactions, “- you have to put on  _ makeup _ , wear nice  _ clothes _ , do stupid romantic things like gaze into each other’s  _ eyes _ , talk about the  _ future _ .” She shudders violently.

“Well, no, we could also come to the Three Broomsticks, have a butterbeer, talk about Quidditch, no makeup needed, as we are doing now,” Yann points out.

Rose gives him a withering look and chooses to ignore his comment.

“What’ll you two have, m’dears?” To Scorpius’ relief, Madam Rosmerta swoops in before Rose can continue her tirade.

“Butterbeer,” Al and Scorpius declare simultaneously. 

“Two Butterbeers coming up!”

Rose switches to complaining about the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, of which she is Captain this year, which is apparently what she was doing before Al and Scorpius joined. Scorpius tries to keep up, although he’s rapidly getting confused - is the Keeper the one who hits the Bludgers? -

“I mean, it’s  _ quite _ ridiculous!,” Rose says. “You’d think Montgomery could get his act together and Keep like he means it, I mean, the amount of Bludgers he lets hit him, you’d think he’s got it confused with the Quaffle -”

“He’s not having the easiest time of it, Rose,” Yann says sympathetically. “He just got dumped.”

Oh no. They’re back to talking about dating and relationships. Scorpius finds that he prefers Quidditch.

“Just?!,” she says indignantly. “That was a  _ week _ ago!”

“A week,” says Albus dryly. “Yes, quite enough time to get over a year-long relationship.”

“What would  _ you _ know?!,” Rose says, caustic and blunt. “Who’ve  _ you _ ever dated?!”

Al flushes deeply, looking angry, and Scorpius feels an uncomfortable prickle at the back of his own neck at Al’s embarrassment, and knows his own pale skin is pink. Yann is looking at the two of them curiously.

“Ah, Al, I didn’t mean it,” says Rose, looking uncomfortable. “All I mean is - you’ve never  _ fancied _ anyone - I mean, not that I know of -” 

She’s only making it worse, and Al is looking impatiently off into the distance, a sign that he’s had quite enough of his blunt cousin. Scorpius downs his Butterbeer even before Al looks over and nods towards the door. “Gotta head out, bye, Rose,” Al says abruptly, and Scorpius echoes, “Bye!” before heading out. Normally, he would have felt bad about leaving so rudely, but he has no more desire to discuss this topic than Albus does.

They walk in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. However, halfway down the street -

“Sorry about that,” Al says gruffly. “I know that was rude of me.”

“It’s okay,” says Scorpius, relieved. “I wanted to leave quite as much.”

Al looks over at him and crinkles a smile. “Rose is best in small doses.”

Scorpius laughs. “You’re terrible. That’s your cousin.”

Al smiles but doesn’t reply.

“It’s odd, really,” Scorpius goes on. “I mean, your parents were so close - best friends, really - and you’re not close to her at all. Nor is James, I suppose, although he’s older than the rest of you. I think Lily and Hugo - who are  _ adorable _ and totally incorrigible, by the way, I’ve had to send them back to their dorm so many time during Prefect rounds - yeah, Lily and Hugo are the only ones keeping up the bonds of the Golden Trio.”

“ _ Please _ stop calling them that,” Al pleads, groaning. “And I’ve always been one to defy tradition,” he reminds Scorpius dryly. “Sorted into Slytherin, best friends with the son of my dad’s schoolboy nemesis -” Scorpius laughs “- and in any case, do you blame me? I mean, Rose is insufferable.”

“She’s not that bad - she’s just blunt,” Scorpius says loyally. “And she’s been quite nice to us -”

“Oh, I forgot, she’s the love of your life,” Albus laughs. Scorpius is reminded, embarrassed, of his long-ago crush on the girl. “Is that why you wanted to leave? Because you couldn’t bear to see her with another man?” He’s mocking, but Scorpius can tell it’s a real question.

“What?,” he asks, amazed. “No. I wanted to leave because - because you were uncomfortable. I - I stopped fancying her a  _ long _ time ago.”

“Oh,” Al says, looking surprised, falling silent. 

Scorpius heaves a relieved breath, however, because he, too, has had quite enough of talk about fancying and dating and snogging.

“Okay, you want to test out the Cockroach Cluster?,” Al offers after a while, as Scorpius knew he would, and this time, it’s him who tries the terrible sweet and reports, “Crunchy,” making Al double up in laughter.

-x-

NEWT Potions is exhausting, and Scorpius would almost not have taken it if it wasn’t for his dad, who loved Potions in school.  _ Everyone thinks he’s so smart _ , he thinks moodily, as he and Al head to the Potions dungeon,  _ but he’s really bollocks at the practical subjects - DADA, and Potions - _

“What do you think we’ll be making today?,” Al asks excitedly, and Scorpius’ mood lifts a little as he thinks of how much Al loves Potions. NEWT Potions is worth it, he decides, just to see the delight on Al’s face at a particularly nasty Potions assignment. He thanks Merlin that Al is his Potions partner and picks up his slack and helps him write his essays.

Six years of spending almost every waking moment, aside from holidays, together, has made him understand Al like the back of his hand, and the thought makes Scorpius feels quite warm inside. He chirps, “Not sure - we did Veritaserum last class - maybe we’ll continue? It’s so hard, I don’t think I quite got it -”

“Nah, he’s picking up Veritaserum again next month, he told me last time, said it’s too advanced for us right now -”

“Potter, Malfoy, start brewing” says Professor Shafiq tersely as they walk in, and Albus waves cheerily. Scorpius lets out a nervous “Hello”, scurrying to his seat. Shafiq scares him, with his expressionless face and taciturnity, but Al absolutely loves him. 

He settles onto his stool and looks over to Al, only to see him staring open-mouthed at the board - he looks over -  _ oh _ .

Amortentia, it says. 

Scorpius feels incredibly awkward, and is aware of suddenly feeling too long-limbed for his chair. He wriggles around, trying to get comfortable.

“Right!,” Albus suddenly announces, snapping out of his reverie and sounding very businesslike. “Let’s get brewing - I’ll get the ingredients -” He comes back with an armful of ingredients, nearly dropping the all-important vial of Pearl Dust, which Scorpius catches with an expert dive -

“Wow, still thinking of trying out for Quidditch?,” Al teases, and suddenly all is normal again. Over the next hour, they brew the Potion along with the rest of the class. About forty-five minutes in, steam - perfect spirals in their case, Scorpius notes with pleasure - starts rising from most of their cauldron’s, except Finch-Fletchley’s, which is letting out spurts of thick, grey smoke. The boy keeps shooting alarmed glances at Shafiq, who sits at the front of the classroom, reading  _ Witch Weekly _ and looking utterly unperturbed. Scorpius isn’t fooled, though - the man knows everything going on in every single student’s cauldron -

Al shakes in the final, key, ingredient - the vial of Pearl Dust - the surface of the potion gleams pearlescent silver, just as the textbook prescribed - 

\- and suddenly, all rational thought escapes Scorpius as desire and longing overwhelm his mind. 

Almost unaware of his actions, he leans close to the cauldron, nose almost touching the silvery surface of the Potion, and beside him, Albus, too, is leaning over, eyes closed. 

This potion is  _ amazing _ . It’s like Al, like Scorpius knew it would be, but it’s the closeness of Al, intensified a thousand times over, - it’s the smell of crisp linen bedsheets, and sugary, smoky Pepper Imps, and dark Lake-y soil, and a million other wonderful things - and Al himself is gazing at him, his lips curved into a rare, gentle smile, and Scorpius absolutely surrenders to the moment, smiling dreamily back and thinking nothing but  _ Albus, Albus, Albus _ .

-x-

About a week later, just before , Scorpius gets the flu, and it’s a truly terrible flu. He insists on going to classes, but the vast quantities of Pepper-Up he’s consuming are giving him indigestion and doing absolutely nothing for his dripping nose and the tennis ball stuck in his throat. 

Albus gets angry at him when he’s not better after a week.

“You need to go to the Hospital Wing!,” he says hotly. 

“Do,” says Scorpius, shaking his head weakly, trying to rise for breakfast. “Id’z jusd a gold -”

Albus shakes his head, exasperated, and tells him to stay in bed, and exits the dorm, leaving Scorpius very confused. Fifteen minutes later, he’s back with hot tea and toast and sausages, and, inexplicably, soup; Scorpius, suddenly ravenous, scarfs everything down, only to vomit his breakfast down the toilet ten minutes later. He’s rather embarrassed at being this way in front of Albus - after all, he does have a massive crush on him - but oh well, if Al’s seen his awkward early teens, he might as well see everything.

He staggers to classes somehow, swigging Pepper-Up and looking “like a drunk” according to Rose Weasley, Al breathing disapprovingly next to him as he hauls him from class to class (yes, he knows when Al’s breathing is disapproving - it gets very loud and passive-aggressive).

After a few days, however, it appears that Al has had enough, as is made clear to Scorpius by his dad standing in the doorway of his dorm next to his best friend.

“Dad?,” Scorpius says weakly, wondering if he’s at the hallucination stage of illness.

“Yes,” says his dad pleasantly. “I hear you’re not taking care of yourself, young man.” 

“Do, I’b nod,” Scorpius admits.

“Want to go to the Hospital Wing?,” his dad continues, still pleasant.

“Yezz,” says Scorpius miserably.

“All right, let’s go.”

Madam Aldora, the matron, is produced, and she levitates Scorpius - quite an enjoyable sensation - to the Hospital Wing, his dad discussing his illness quietly with Aldora ahead of him, Al muttering furiously next to him. 

“Al?,” he asks, reaching out his hand somewhat unconsciously and tangling his fingers through his best friend’s, his sweet love’s - arresting Al in the middle of his diatribe - “did you gall by dad?”

“Yes,” says Al crossly, getting over his initial surprise and intertwining his fingers through Scorpius’ firmly, “I galled - I mean, I called - your dad. Because you’re an idiot.” 

“Dank you.”

He holds Scorpius’ sweaty, germy hand all the way to the Hospital Wing.

-x-

When Scorpius wakes up the next morning, feeling a little better, his dad is next to his bedside, noon sunlight shining off the platinum hair Scorpius shares with him, smiling at him.

“Good morning,” he says.

“Good bordig,” Scorpius echoes.

“Don’t scare me like that again,” he says.

“I wo’d,” Scorpius promises. 

His dad is quiet, until -

“You chose a good person to fall in love with,” he comments conversationally.

Scorpius agrees.

-x-

He steadily gets better, with Al visiting him and somehow producing chicken sweet corn soup, which is his favourite, each day, and noting down his homework, which he never even does for himself.

Scorpius’ heart overflows with love, and sometimes he wonders dimly how he will ever get over this.

“Madam Aldora?,” he asks sleepily one day. 

“Yes, sweetheart?,” she asks him. She’s grown quite fond of him, and has told him he has the aptitude for a Healer, which, Scorpius thinks, is a job he would quite love.

“Have you ever been in love?”

“Well! -” Madam Aldora laughs. “As it happens, I have. But it was terrible,” she adds matter-of-factly. “I fell out of love quick enough.”

“Oh,” says Scorpius dully. “What happened?”

“Well, I dumped him. He was quite cut up.”

“Have you ever been in  _ unrequited _ love?,” Scorpius persists.

“Well - maybe for a little while, but then he felt the same way back - so no -” says Madam Aldora, looking puzzled. “Are you feeling quite all right, Scorpius, love?”

“No,” Scorpius sighs.

“Ah, lovesickness,” smiles Madam Aldora. “Afraid we don’t have a cure for that here,” and Scorpius laughs at her silly joke.

“How’d you fall out of love?,” he asks. Maybe she can give him some tips.

“Is this about the boy who keeps visiting you?,” she demands suddenly.

“Yes,” Scorpius says. No point in denying it.

“Well, if he’s bringing you  _ soup _ , I wouldn’t worry about falling  _ out _ of love -”

“He’s my best friend but he doesn’t feel that way, and I’m pretty sure he’s straight,” he explains patiently.

“Oh,” says Aldora, suddenly sympathetic. “Oh, love. That’s awful.”

“Yeah. So - tips on falling out of love?”

“Er - well, focus on his  _ absolute worst _ qualities -”

“Can’t, I love all of them.”

“Um - okay, start meeting other people -”

“There’s nobody I like as much as him.”

“Well, try being on your own for a bit - you’ll soon forget him -”

“I’ve been in love with him for six years, over breaks and holidays and everything -”

Aldora sighs, raising her eyebrows. “Oh, dear. Then I’m afraid I can’t really do anything for you. Sorry, Scorpius.” She looks at him sympathetically. “You might just have to wait this one out. Suffering is what makes us human.”

“Hey, my dad told me that too,” grins Scorpius wanly, and Aldora laughs. 

“He’s got that right.”

He spends Valentine’s Day in the Hospital Wing, but, to his relief, Albus doesn’t seem to have a Valentine either, and spends all day working on a Charms essay quietly next to him, which Aldora, winking at him, allows.

-x-

It’s early March, and Easter holidays are around the corner, and Scorpius is making a timetable for his and Albus’s exam study schedule in the Slytherin Common Room, when -

“Hi, Al?”

“Yeah?,” says Al, looking up at Corella Windham, who is standing in front of them.

“Um - I was wondering - would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me?”

Al stares at her blankly.

“As a date?,” she adds firmly.

“Er -,” he says. “No.” 

He looks back down at his timetable, peaceably inking subjects into it with his quill. Above him, Corella looks outraged and offended, and Scorpius tries to control the hammering in his chest as he smiles apologetically at her, like any normal, straight, not-in-love male best friend would do when his best friend is asked out by somebody else -

“Can you believe her?,” Al says, chuckling, later, as they go up to the boys’ dormitory, safely out of earshot of everyone.

“What?,” says Scorpius.

“I mean - like I’d want to go to Hogsmeade with her - you know.”

“What’s wrong with her?,” he asks, suddenly quite irritated, banging open the door of their room.

Albus looks alarmed. “Nothing - I just don’t want to go to Hogsmeade with anyone - I mean, Hogsmeade is...well,  _ we _ go together,” he finishes lamely.

“Right,” says Scorpius, thoroughly annoyed. “And what if  _ I _ wanted to go with someone on a date? Would I be allowed to?”

Al looks stricken. 

“Do you?!,” he demands. “Did you - wait, do you want to ask  _ Corella _ out?”

“No, I don’t want to ask Corella out!,” says Scorpius, angrily, “It’s the principle of the thing!” It’s rare for him to get angry, but something has just set him off today. Maybe it’s been building for a while.

“Well, of course - ” Al still looks stricken, and swallows, “- of course you  _ can _ \- I just -”

Scorpius turns away, irritated beyond belief. 

Why can’t Al just be a normal guy? Why can’t he date girls - or boys - or whoever he wants to, really - rather than spend all his time with Scorpius? Why does he have to spend all his Hogsmeade weekends with Scorpius? Why does he have to bring Scorpius  _ soup _ ? Why does he have to spend _ Valentine’s Day  _ with Scorpius, for fuck’s sake? They don’t hang out with anybody else - no wonder Scorpius never has a chance to get over him, he barely has a second away from the boy - and he’s so stupid, he goes along with it, too, because there’s nobody like snarky, miserable, wonderful Al around - maybe he  _ should _ date somebody else -

“Scorpius?,” Al asks timidly. 

Sighing, Scorpius says, “What?”

“ _ Do _ you want to date someone in particular? Do you...fancy someone?” 

Scorpius decides to tell him the truth. “Yes,” he answers shortly.

Albus is quiet.

“Um - who - who is it?,” he asks after a while, sounding horrified. 

Scorpius feels even angrier. As though he is not allowed to have a crush on someone, just because Al doesn’t know what fancying someone even means. Why can’t the boy be  _ normal _ ?

“Look - it’s none of your business,” he says, realizing belatedly that he sounds nothing like himself. He turns around, and Al is looking at him strangely. “What I mean to say is -” he adds, feeling quite ashamed at Al’s expression, “- is that I really don’t want to talk about it, but maybe we should consider spending some time apart, because honestly, we don’t hang out with anybody else, and it’s really quite odd, and you were very rude to Corella, and I can’t help but feel that that’s because of me, and I just want us to be - like -  _ normal boys _ \- like - dating other people -”

More has come out in his breathless explanation than he intended, and he’s thinking of ways to backtrack before he notices that Al is looking quite determined, his face set -

“Yeah, I did say no to Corella because of you, but not in the way you think,” says Al quietly. He looks out their dormitory window into the lake, where, in the distance, they can see a grindylow kicking. He takes a deep breath, and looks at Scorpius, his face lit by the lake’s green light -

“I - I really like you, Scorpius.”

“I - I like you too, Albus,” says Scorpius dumbly. His brain has slowed down, or perhaps it’s misinterpreting some signals, because that can’t have been what Al said. “You’re my best friend -”

“No, not like that,” Albus insists. “I mean - you’re my best friend too - but -” he curls his fists around his blankets, and swallows, before a great torrent of words is unleashed. He is looking fearlessly, directly, at Scorpius, green eyes vibrant. “I want to be more, with you. I want you to be more to me. I want to go to Hogsmeade with you - on a date - and I want to kiss you, and I want to buy you Honeydukes, and I want to spend Valentine’s Day with you for real, as your Valentine and not as your friend, and I want  _ you _ to smell  _ me _ in Amortentia, not somebody else -”

The world has gone quite upside down, and Scorpius can’t quite comprehend it.

Suddenly, the door slams open, and Marcus Ingleby strolls in.

“Fuck off, Ingleby,” Al snaps, and Marcus, raising his eyebrows, backs out slowly, shutting the door gently behind him. 

However, the spell has been broken, and suddenly Al looks back down at the ground, vulnerable. He scuffs his shoes miserably against the floor, and the suddenly stands up. “Right, sorry - I shouldn’t’ve - I’ll - just leave you alone now -” he makes for the door -

“I don’t,” says Scorpius weakly, and Al turns, looking impossibly afraid.

“Oh,” he says, “okay. That’s...that’s fine. We can still be friends.” He looks devastated, blinking rapidly.

“No!,” Scorpius squeaks loudly, realizing that Al got the  _ entirely _ wrong impression from his two words. “What I mean is - I  _ don’t _ smell anybody else in Amortentia. It’s - it’s you.”

Al is speechless, staring at him. “Erm - are you quite sure?,” he asks, gripping the bedpost.

Scorpius wants to laugh. What an  _ Albus _ thing to say. “Yes,” he says, gaining confidence, although his voice is shaking. “I don’t think anybody’s sheets smell quite as clean as yours.”

“You - you smell - my sheets?,” Albus asks weakly, sinking down on them.

“Yes,” Scorpius confirms, stepping forward. “And Pepper Imps. And - the way the soil smells next to the Lake where you like to sit - and - your shampoo - and - well, and chocolate eclairs, but that’s because I like them, but I also smell treacle tart, which  _ you _ like - what about you?”

Al looks surprised. “What about me?,” he echoes.

“Yes,” Scorpius whispers, for he’s quite close to Albus now. “What do  _ you _ smell in Amortentia? Is it me?”

“Yes. You,” says Albus, gazing into his grey eyes, quite lost for words.

“What is it like?”

“It’s - well - that cologne, the one I gave you, that you wear all the time now -”

“And?,” he presses.

“And Pepper Imps, for me, too.”

“What else?,” he says, stepping ever closer.

“And - and - books. Parchment. The library. And toast, because you like toast.”

Scorpius laughs, quite giddy. This is, he decides, the single most romantic moment of his life, as Al closes his eyes and breathes deeply, their noses almost touching. 

“Cologne,” he says croakily, opening his eyes, and suddenly, his lips are only a hair’s width away, and all Scorpius has to do is lean forward - 

Kissing is quite wonderful. No, he corrects himself, kissing _Albus_ is quite wonderful. Somehow, all his daydreams don’t match up to the reality of warm Albus-lips pressed against his, slightly sugary, their breaths fluttering and mingling. 

He could stay like this forever. 

He feels Albus’s fingertips gently touch his, and it’s strangely electrifying - he feels like giggling, considering they’re already kissing - but gently, so as not to break the electric spell, he twines his fingers through Albus and closes each of his fists around his precious palms, just as Albus does the same -

Suddenly, Albus angles his head, and the kiss is now deeper, and Scorpius’s mouth opens in surprise - Albus’s tongue slips into it, tentatively exploring, and he gasps - this is more than he’s ever felt before, and it all feels so surreal -

He breaks away, gazing at Albus, terrified.

“What’s wrong?,” asks Albus, who is looking equally terrified. “Did I fuck up? Did I bite you? Fuck, I’m so sorry -”

“No, no, you’re wonderful!” squeaks Scorpius. His voice is cracking like a thirteen-year-old’s. “I - I - you’re _too_ wonderful,” he tries to explain, and, to his relief, Albus grins. 

“Yeah - yeah, I get it, I think,” he breathes, their faces still impossibly close. “You - you are too.”

Scorpius feels dizzy, and decides to sit down, next to Albus. Their hands are still clasped. Suddenly, Albus dives in for another kiss, fierce and unapologetic this time, and when they emerge, they’re both breathing hard.

“This -” Albus says raggedly. “This is - wow. Why didn’t we do this before? I really like this. I really like  _ you _ . I really like  _ this _ , with you. We should do this more. All the time, in fact.”

Scorpius doesn’t think he’s ever heard Al be so verbose before, or himself so quiet. The world, he decides, really has flipped. 

He leans dreamily against the bedpost, then changes his mind, leaning against the warm boy next to him instead, who wraps an arm around him. 

He thinks back to the time on the train platform - only a few months ago, really - steeling himself to love and receive pain in return for who knew how long - why, it seems so long ago now -

“Why did you give me cologne for Christmas?,” he demands suddenly.

Albus blushes. “Um - I - Uncle Ron said it was romantic. It’s like - a way of telling someone you like them - without actually having to put it in words - which I couldn’t.”

Scorpius smiles, shy. “I normally wouldn’t trust any progenitor of Rose Granger-Weasley on romance, but - it was.” He blushes too.

“Any - what? -,” Al says, bewildered, but laughing, Scorpius is pulling him into a hug, burying his face in his Albus’s shoulder.

“How long?,” he asks, muffled.  _ Months _ . He can’t believe it. Al liked him at  _ Christmas _ .

“How long what?,” asks Al.

“How long have you lo - liked me?”

“I - Merlin, I don’t know. Since fourth year, at least. Maybe before that. I’m not good with feelings, or understanding my own.”

Oh,  _ Merlin _ . All this time -

“Fuck,” says Al, pulling away, embarrassed. “Fuck, that’s too long, you’re probably freaked out -”

“No!,” Scorpius cries. “Me too, I’ve love -” he blushes deeply “- I’ve liked you this long too. Fourth year, definitely, and maybe even before that.”

Albus is grinning at him, dazzled, and Scorpius is certain he looks the same. He thinks of his parents’ wedding picture, he thinks of how Al looks at him now.

There is so much, he thinks, to be happy for. To cry for. To feel for, to suffer for, to live for. 

-x-

**Author's Note:**

> I always headcanon Scorpius as having this interesting inner life; he's cheerful and loving and full of joy on the outside - and also on the inside - but he's not a child, far from it, given that he's gone through so much, including a parent's death. I see him as having this persistent well of sadness inside him, and I think those songs I was listening to really captured that and then I had to write it.  
> Thanks for reading! For more HP trash, follow me on tumblr: @chashmishhhh


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